


Good Night, Harry

by Bil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All we need is a good night's sleep, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Parody, Snape mentors Harry, Snape-friendly, The wizarding world does not do logic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 22:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bil/pseuds/Bil
Summary: AU. Harry only defeated Voldemort because he wanted a good night’s sleep. Snape-mentors-Harry.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape
Comments: 15
Kudos: 119





	Good Night, Harry

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: As if JKR would write this :)
> 
> Prompts: blood-curdling scream, graveyard shift, mentor.
> 
> A/N: This is a mild parody, possibly even satire (of both the books and some common fanfiction themes). Please don’t take it seriously! Features Good!Snape, so please hit the back button if that’s not your cup of tea.
> 
> This started because I hadn’t written my 500 words for the day but it was late and I just wanted to go to sleep, so I started writing about someone who just wanted to go to sleep. And then Severus stuck his nose in and things got out of hand. This is fairly standard writing practice where I come from; nothing ever goes as planned.

**YEAR ONE**

Someone somewhere, Severus considered, had a great deal to answer for. Someone somewhere had started a rumour that would not die. And now otherwise almost-sensible people like Minerva had the peculiar notion that he needed next to no sleep.

As a matter of fact, Severus _liked_ sleep. He liked to have a full eight hours of sleep a night and on holidays when he didn’t have students to concern himself with he had been known to sleep in until midday just for the sheer luxuriousness of it.

But someone somewhere had started a vicious rumour and now Flitwick could say “Oh, Severus can take that shift; he doesn’t sleep much,” and everyone would _agree_ with him. As if it was a _treat_ to get the graveyard shift. And he was the junior member of staff, so disagreeing was hardly an option. No, instead he would slope moodily around the castle in the middle of the night, trying not to yawn and wishing he was downstairs in his nice, comfortable bed. Was it any wonder he was harsh on the students he caught out after curfew? If not for them, he would be asleep!

He really had no idea where people got the idea he was an insomniac, but if he ever met the person responsible, he was going to hex their ears off.

Things didn’t get better over the years either, for by the time he was no longer a junior member of staff his night-owl reputation was so firmly entrenched he could have Imperioed the lot of them and they would have _still_ believed it.

It was, Severus grumped as he took points from a pair of fleeing Ravenclaws, vastly unfair. He heard more footsteps and glowered: Really, children were so selfish! They never thought of anyone but themselves. Why couldn’t they stay in bed so he could stay in bed? Inconsiderate little cretins.

He strode up to the corner on silent feet and peered around it to identify the new set of miscreants and consider his best approach. The newest Weasley and the Potter brat. Hadn’t even been here three days and already getting in trouble? Just like his worthless father. (Not that Severus had many feelings about Harry Potter yet. He’d had no contact with the brat and been more concerned about school beginning again and the consequent broken nights to be endured. Potter had hardly been a blip on the radar until now. But _now_ he was going to cop it!)

He watched their hesitant progress down the corridor. Maybe if he leapt out at them with a bloodcurdling scream he could frighten them into never ever breaking curfew again. (It is perhaps worth noting that a sleep-deprived Severus is not a rational Severus. The idea would never have occurred to him on a good eight hours’ sleep.)

“Come _on_ , Harry,” hissed the Weasley.

Potter yawned so widely Severus’s jaw creaked in sympathy. “But I don’t _want_ to explore the castle, Ron,” he said plaintively. “I just want to go to _sleep_.”

“You can sleep another time.”

“I don’t want to sleep another time. I want to sleep _now_. I _like_ sleeping.”

At that moment was born in Severus’s breast a deep, abiding sympathy for Harry Potter that would never fade through all the years they knew each other. Here at last was a kindred spirit, a fellow somniac forced by those around him to be an insomniac. To Severus he was no longer James’s son, no longer Lily’s son. He was just a fellow sufferer in a world that had it in for sleep.

“ _Please_ , Ron,” Potter pleaded over top of the Weasley’s monologue about the wonders of nighttime exploration (which seemed to include a lot of “My brothers say”). “I just want to go to _bed_.”

Severus acted not out of malice nor revenge, but simply a desire to aid. “An excellent idea, Mr Potter,” he said, stepping forward sharply, and was gratified to hear Weasley’s gasp of surprise. “You should both be in bed.”

* * *

Two boys hovered nervously outside the main potions classroom, neither daring to knock on the door. Everyone knew it was the lair of the Potions Master, a fearsome and terrible beast, and you didn’t have to be at Hogwarts more than a day before you knew all about the horrors that took place in that classroom.

“You knock, Harry,” Ron Weasley said. He was more nervous than his friend, but then he had brothers already at the school. He’d heard more stories.

“Why me?” Potter yawned. “It was you who dragged us out after curfew. You got us into trouble, _you_ knock.” The unseen listener nodded; this seemed fair to him.

“But it's Snape! My brothers say he's probably a vampire. No one's ever seen him outside, Bill said. Probably he just disintegrates in sunlight! The twins even reckon he chops students up for potions ingredients once he's drunk their blood. I'm not knocking!”

“He's a teacher, Ron,” Potter said dubiously. “I don't think they let teachers go around killing students. Dumbledore wouldn't let them.”

Weasley ignored the voice of reason in favour of rumour. “Yeah, but it's Snape. He's scary. I bet he could hide it.”

Potter sounded even more dubious. “I don't think you can hide that many students going missing.” He yawned widely. “I mean, if he is a vampire and he drains them dry that's still probably six or seven students a year, isn't it?”

“What?”

“Well, the human body's got, what five quarts of blood? And kids have less. And it's supposed to take a least a couple quarts a month to sustain a vampire. I remember reading about it.”

Severus yanked the door open, pleased to see them both jump violently. “Why am I not surprised you remember a gory detail like that, Mr Potter? Tell me, did either of you plan on knocking? Or did you think you could spend your entire detention out here in the corridor and I wouldn't notice?”

“Er...” Weasley said brilliantly.

Potter gave a bright smile. “We were early, Professor, and we were just waiting until it was time.” He yawned widely.

Severus sniffed disdainfully, but was privately pleased by the quick thinking. “Repeat that with a little more confidence, Mr Potter, and I might just believe you. And cover your mouth when you yawn.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Potter said around a yawn. But this time he covered his mouth.

“Well?” Severus asked impatiently. “Are you waiting for engraved invitations? Come in!”

The boys scuttled inside under his glare, Potter smothering another yawn. Severus felt himself trying to yawn in sympathy and sternly suppressed the impulse (years of practice, and all that). He turned to where half a dozen dirty cauldrons sat on the first of the student benches.

“Mr Weasley, your oh-so-charming self will be cleaning those.” Weasley groaned. Severus smirked. “And rest assured that whatever your brothers may have attempted to convince you, no human remains have been melted down in them. I can promise you that baked-on human is much easier to clean than the slug slime you see here.” Weasley turned green. Potter looked intrigued (around the inevitable yawn). “And so you will not be tempted into attempting a spell you haven’t the training to perform correctly, your wand.”

Weasley handed it over reluctantly, like a man giving up his last chance of survival.

“Thank you,” Severus said dryly, “Now, clean. You should be able to finish all those in this detention if you work hard. What you don’t finish today you can finish tomorrow evening.” The boy looked horrified. Severus smiled thinly and turned on his heel. “Potter, with me.”

Potter yawned and followed. Severus caught the Weasley boy giving him a commiserating look, but Potter just shrugged back.

He led Potter into the next classroom, a smaller room usually used by sixth or seventh years. A single cauldron sat on the front bench; beside it was a pillow. Potter gave them a curious look. And yawned.

“Clean that cauldron,” Severus ordered. “That is your punishment for letting yourself be led around by your friend when you should have known better. Once you have done that—and only then—you will catch up on your sleep so you stop that wretched yawning. Then perhaps you won’t spend tomorrow yawning all over the castle in that annoying fashion, despite your Astronomy class tonight.”

He received a look that ought to have been reward enough in itself. “Yes sir! Thank you, Professor!”

“Thank me by ensuring that in future you get a full night’s sleep. No more wandering the halls when you should be sleeping.”

“Yes, Professor! I mean, No, Professor! I mean, uh, anything you say, Professor!”

Severus didn’t smile at the tumbled speech. He just said, “Good,” and turned away. As he went out the door Potter was scrubbing with a will. Satisfied, Severus closed the door and went back to the other classroom. Weasley was also working, but without nearly so much skill or enthusiasm.

“Really, Mr Weasley,” Severus drawled. “Can’t you do better than that? The faster you clean them the sooner you are free. If you finish early you may leave early.”

This didn’t compel the boy to work faster, however, but just to glare at his cauldron in poor substitute for glaring at Severus. Who shook his head and settled down to do some marking. Later, when Weasley was just finishing his first cauldron, Severus went to check on Potter. The cauldron was so clean it would have impressed a house elf and Potter had his head down on the pillow, fast asleep.

Severus nodded. There might just be something in the boy after all. James Potter’s son, perhaps, but he was a hard worker with a certain amount of intelligence, and he was someone who understood the value of sleep. Severus closed the door very quietly behind him. Add to all this the fact the boy was destined to save the world, and he was definitely a child worth cultivating.

* * *

* * *

**YEAR TWO**

Harry went to bed early because he was a) sick of Fred and George singing “His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad” (and strongly suspected it had been them, not Ginny, who sent the Valentine’s card) and b) it was a great excuse to get some extra sleep. Any excuse to get some extra sleep was just fine with him.

Pulling his pyjamas out from under his pillow, he dislodged a book which tumbled onto the floor. Picking it up, he remembered he’d stuffed that weird diary under his pillow to hide it from Neville. Once he was in bed he idly flipped through the pages, only to realise that the ink that had been spilt on it earlier was gone. Even Hermione’s best spell couldn’t have done that. Rummaging around, he found some fresh ink and tried writing his name.

The ink vanished.

“Whoa.” Okay, so he definitely hadn’t been doing any spells. So why...?

Writing appeared on the page, loopy and proper and old-fashioned, so that he had to squint to understand it. _Hello, Harry Potter_.

_Who are you?_ Harry wrote.

_My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?_

Harry picked up his quill again, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and then suddenly realised that he was all alone in the dorm and could get some quality sleep in before the other boys came up and starting making a racket. Hastily shutting the diary, he shoved it under his pillow before burying himself under the covers and relaxing with a happy sigh.

By the time Ron came barrelling up to bed, Harry was fast asleep. The diary was silent. Frustrated, but silent.

* * *

Severus looked up at the knock on his office door. “Enter!”

Potter slipped inside and shut the door carefully behind him. “Professor?”

Putting down his quill, Severus motioned for him to sit down. “What can I do for you, Mr Potter?” He looked the boy over, pleased to see he looked well rested. “Do you need more dreamless sleep?”

“Nah.” Potter shook his head. “What you gave me is good.”

“You’re not using it every night, I trust.”

“No, sir! Over summer I used it every second night, just like you said. I don’t use it much now, the nightmares aren’t so bad.” He gave a little shudder anyway; no one else had bothered to consider what might happen to an eleven-year-old boy who’d killed his first man, so Severus had done his poor best to help. “Thanks for that, Professor, but I’m sleeping pretty well now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Though when Ron starts snoring sometimes... But that’s not what I came to talk to you about. Do you know what this is?”

Severus looked at the small book Potter placed on the desk. “It would appear to be a diary.”

“Yeah, but it sucks up ink. Hermione couldn’t make it show anything, but last night I tried writing my name in it and it started talking back.”

“Talking,” Severus said flatly.

“Writing, I mean.”

“What did it say?”

“That its name was Tom Riddle.”

Severus frowned. Surely not... “And?”

“That was all.” Potter looked unwontedly sheepish.

“That was all?” A diary started writing back and that was all?

Potter shrugged. “Well, then I realised no one else was around in the dorm and I was wasting valuable sleep time, so I left it. Then this morning I thought about it and figured you’d know more about it than me, so I decided I’d give it to you.”

Severus didn’t smile, but he said with something almost like warmth in his voice, “Very wise, Mr Potter.”

The boy explained how he’d found the diary and then looked at Severus with bright, intelligent eyes. “It’s not normal, right? I mean, even in the wizarding world?”

“No, Mr Potter, it is not.” Severus eyed the diary with revulsion.

“You’ll take charge of it?”

“I shall investigate, yes.”

“Thanks, Professor!” Potter said, with complete faith in Severus’s abilities and desire to help. He got to his feet. “Have fun!”

“Sleep well,” Severus farewelled him.

Potter grinned at him. “I will.”

Only Harry Potter, Severus considered later, would be saved from being sucked dry of his life force by a horcrux because he wanted to sleep in. It only went to prove what he had always said: getting a full night’s sleep was very important for one’s health. He was pleased Potter was such a sensible boy.

* * *

* * *

**YEAR THREE**

Frantic knocking on his office door made Severus start out of his seat. Before he could demand to know who was making the noise, the door burst open and Potter stumbled in, looking wild and scared. “Professor!” he cried, looking around worriedly.

“Here, Potter,” Severus said, stepping forward.

Potter came right up close to him, as if seeking reassurance, casting a worried look back at the door. “Professor, he’s in there! I can't see him and I don't know his name, but he's in there! The map says so! It's horrible! He shouldn't be in there. It's not his dorm. It's not his place.” Fear started to become indignation now he felt safe. “It's not his place. Make him go away, Professor.”

“I will, Mr Potter, if you will calm down and explain to me what all this nonsense actually means.”

“He's right there! On Ron's bed! Only I can't see him! He's on the map, so he must be!” Potter paused. “Well, maybe the map's wrong. But it's never been wrong before. It even shows Dumbledore, so if it shows him it must be right, right?”

“I could give you a coherent answer if you would give me a coherent explanation.” He shook the boy gently by the shoulders. “Potter! Calm down.”

Potter took a deep breath and made a visible effort to calm himself. “Okay. Sorry, Professor.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Severus said acerbically, “just don’t do it again.”

This calmed Potter down even more. “Okay, Professor.”

“Now, explain. _Calmly_.”

“Right. Well, I wanted to have a sleep before Astronomy. You know, because otherwise you just get so _tired_.”

“I know, Potter.”

“I don’t know why they can’t have the class earlier. I mean, it gets dark earlier, right? At least it does now it’s not summer.”

“Very true.”

“So I just have a sleep beforehand instead. Which isn’t as good, but it’s better than nothing.”

“It is very wise of you,” Severus said without irony. He wished more students were so sensible; you could always tell which students had had Astronomy the night before.

“So I thought I'd check the dorm was empty before I went in, because otherwise you have to talk, not sleep. I mean, don't they understand that when a person goes to bed he wants to sleep? Not talk?” Sensing Severus’s impatience, he cut himself short. “Well, anyway. I checked the dorm on the map.”

“Which map?”

“You know, that one I showed you.”

“Oh. _That_ map. Which you better not have been using to avoid me.”

“Oh, _no_ , Professor,” Potter said quite sincerely, as if he couldn’t see why anyone would want to do that.

Rather pleased despite himself, Severus said, “Good.”

“But I looked on the map and there was someone already in there, sitting on Ron's bed. But I don't know his name and when I peeked in through the door I couldn't see anyone. Not even under the bed. But he's definitely there on the map. I don't want to sleep in there with some invisible person staring at me. Can I sleep here?”

Snape considered him. “You can sleep in the back room if you promise not to touch the potion that’s simmering there.”

Slightly affronted, Potter said, “Of course I wouldn’t!”

Severus acknowledged this with a nod. “Meanwhile, if you will lend me your map, I shall investigate the matter of the invisible man. What did you say his name was?”

Potter handed over the map without any qualms. “Peter. Peter Pettigrew.”

Only Harry Potter, Severus shook his head over it later, could capture a criminal not even known to be on the run by wanting a nap. He was almost willing to admit he was proud of the boy.

* * *

* * *

**YEAR FOUR**

It was no fun pretending to pick on Potter when even the Gryffindors (save Miss Granger) didn’t like the boy. Which only went to prove that, barring a rare few, children were a bunch of idiots. Much, it had to be said, like adults. Severus sighed, feeling that half the spice had gone out of life. Stupid TriWizard Tournament. He could have been having such a good year. Well, at the very least, not so bad a year.

“Class dismissed. Potter, stay behind.”

The rest of the student hastily packed up; Potter stayed in his seat. The instant the last student had left, Potter was out of his chair and in front of Severus. “I didn’t put my name in the goblet, Professor! I didn’t! Honest!”

“I know you didn’t,” Severus said immediately.

“I thought it would be great having the tournament here! I thought all the attention would be on them and I could get lots of extra sleep because no one would be interested in me!” A sulky look passed over his face. “I was looking forward to getting lots of sleep.”

“I believe you, Mr Potter.”

“Really?” Potter peered up at him hopefully. “No one else does except Hermione.”

“I am not responsible for the idiocy of the rest of the world.”

Potter laughed and relaxed. “Okay. I don’t mind if _you_ know, Professor.”

A little touched despite himself (but only a very little, of course), Severus rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder a moment. “Then don’t concern yourself. And any time you need to escape your public, adoring or not adoring, let me know and I’ll give you a detention.”

Any other student would have run screaming from the room. Potter looked like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Okay. I like your detentions.”

“That is because you are a sensible child. Now remember to get an early night. You are probably not going to get much sleep this year.”

Potter pulled a face and said a heartfelt “Yeah. Why does everything happen to me?”

Severus steered him towards the door. “Because, Mr Potter, the world is averse to those of us who like to sleep. Haven’t you noticed?”

Potter sighed. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Professor. I hope you get lots of sleep tonight too.”

“I shall certainly try.” Severus almost let escape a sigh of his own. “I think we are going to need it.”

* * *

Dumbledore liked to have afternoon tea with his staff to “keep in touch”. Never mind that they all lived in the same castle and ate at the same table. So instead of putting his Sunday afternoon to some useful purpose (for example, having a catnap to make up for the sleep he would lose later in stalking the halls in search of errant students out after curfew) Severus was sitting down to tea and biscuits with Minerva and Dumbledore. At least Dumbledore had finally given up on offering him those wretched sherbet lemons; Severus could just about handle ginger newts.

Talk turned, as talk so often did these days, to the Triwizard tournament. Not speculation over what the first task might involve, since the teachers knew very well what the test would be (despite Severus’s fervent arguments against it), but the potential performances of the competitors. Which brought up the grievance Severus never objecting to airing: “Couldn’t you have got the Potter brat out of it?” Minerva scowled at him; it was amusing how everybody thought he hated the boy because he called him a brat. Potter thought it was a great nickname; Potter _liked_ having a nickname. “He’s only a child.”

“Younger than he have competed in the tournament,” Dumbledore said mildly.

“Children better trained! Children who died! This is the twentieth century, not the court of King Arthur! We do not send children out to be slaughtered.”

Minerva’s eyes narrowed; her nostrils flared. “Have you so little faith in him, Severus?” she asked icily.

Severus stared at her. “What? He hasn't had the training! Against the other three, what chance does he have? Shouldn't he have one school year where he doesn't draw attention to himself?”

She huffed disapprovingly. “Ah, so you’re just jealous that it was not one of your house chosen to represent Hogwarts. Really, Severus, I wish you would get over these silly feuds.”

Severus considered running headfirst into the stone wall; it would be about as productive as this. “How is wanting an under-aged wizard not to be killed somehow evidence of jealousy?”

“Now, now, Severus,” Dumbledore said calmingly. “We will do all we can to ensure young Harry’s safety.”

“Yes, by doing absolutely nothing while Karkaroff and Madame Maxime cheat at every turn.”

Minerva went very stiff. “It is important that we maintain our integrity, Severus.”

“Your ‘integrity’ is going to get Potter killed!”

“Now, now, Severus,” Dumbledore soothed.

“You’re repeating yourself, Albus.” Severus stood and stalked towards the door: he’d had enough of platitudes and circular reasoning for one day. He paused at the door to sneer back at them. “Thank you,” he said with mock courtesy, “for the tea.” And then he swept out.

All right, they wouldn’t do anything, so it was up to him. As usual.

* * *

Despite Potter’s best efforts, Severus knew the boy was losing sleep over solving the clue for the second task. After the first task (which had been one of the more terrifying experiences of Severus’s life, forced to watch on as if at a Quidditch match and knowing that if something went wrong there was nothing he could do) the other teachers were starting to think that not only could Potter survive, but possibly even win.

Severus was thinking of a fourteen-year-old boy who’d been sent out to face a dragon alone while his teachers watched on with their hands in their laps.

He stalked backwards and forwards in front of the blackboard as he snapped out instructions to his class and they wrote hurried notes. Potter was at the back of the classroom as usual, but yawning his head off and Severus had already noted the black half-circles under his eyes. Rattling off the last instructions, he snapped, “Well? What are you waiting for? Begin!”

The students hastily got to work and Severus swept down the classroom to where Potter was giving another great yawn. “Potter! If you must continue to make that irritating noise, go into the back room so you stop disturbing the students who are actually here for a purpose.”

This earned him baleful looks from the Gryffindors who had (finally) rallied around ‘their’ champion, but a grateful look from Potter, who, yawning, went into the back room.

Severus made a circuit of the room to ensure everyone was working comfortably, then came back to the back room door. He scowled around the classroom. “Even a hint of noise and I will have the entire class in detention.” He shot a pointed look at Malfoy. “And I mean the _entire_ class.” Draco winced slightly, which meant Severus had a few minutes’ grace.

He went into the back room, where Potter had found ‘his’ pillow and was, yawning widely, preparing to get some sleep.

“Foolish boy,” Severus said sharply, concealing concern under gruffness. “Why don’t you take a sleeping potion?”

“I do,” Potter said. “But it doesn’t help with dreams. I can’t figure out how to work the second task and I start dreaming about it.” He yawned. “I just want some _sleep_. Why couldn’t Dumbledore get me out of this? I mean, _I_ didn’t put my name in, why should it matter to me if the contract is broken? Damn, should have put Voldemort’s name in. Then when he didn’t turn up he’d have been the one forfeiting his magic.”

“You should have thought of that earlier. And now,” Severus said, not for the first time, “tell me your clue.”

“No,” Potter said stubbornly. “If anyone found out... I _can’t_ ask for help, you _know_ that.” Bitterly, he muttered, “Even if the other schools are.”

“No,” Severus said slowly, “you can’t. Dumbledore is very insistent that the rules must be followed, even when it would appear that the only rule being followed is that rules are not to be followed. But if you happened to leave some notes lying around from your brainstorming, it wouldn't be your fault if someone else happened to write things on them, would it?”

Potter began to smile. “No.” He yawned.

“Sleep, Mr Potter,” Severus ordered. “And then write your thoughts down. Sometimes it helps more than you expect.”

So after that Harry was regularly out the back, not only sleeping but also doing lessons (mostly in potions but also in other subjects) so that he need not be penalised educationally for being a champion. Really, the other teachers just didn't think things through. It was understandable in Potter, who was only a boy, if a remarkably sensible one, but the teachers were supposedly intelligent adults capable of reasoned thought. Severus achieved a sardonic mental "Hah!"

And if it so happened that one lesson Potter left behind a worried note he'd written to ‘himself’ about needing to find a way to breathe under water and Severus had then left a labelled jar of gillyweed next to it next lesson, well, it didn't mean anything. And Miss Granger would figure out the rest.

Dumbledore or no Dumbledore, Severus was not going to stand for Potter missing out on sleep. He was a growing boy and he needed adequate rest.

* * *

* * *

**YEAR FIVE**

A subdued knock heralded Potter’s entrance for “remedial potions”. “Professor?”

Severus stood and looked down at him. “And? How much success are you having?

Potter grimaced. “Not that much. I mean, I’m clearing my mind every night before I go to sleep. It’s not that hard really, I was practically doing it before you started teaching me. Shutting down your mind is the best way to fall asleep and I always want to get to sleep as fast as possible.”

Severus nodded approvingly. “A laudable goal indeed.”

Potter looked gratified. “And the occlumency is helping. I mean, I’m going to sleep even quicker, which is great. But then I dream this strange, crazy dream.”

Frowning, Severus said, “What kind of dream?”

Potter described his dream of a windowless corridor leading to a door with surprising detail. Which was just one more reason for Severus to believe: “It is not a dream.”

“It figures. What is it?”

“I believe it is a vision from Voldemort sent to entice you into doing something for him.”

“He can do that?” Potter asked, horrified.

Severus was equally horrified. Attacking a person physically was one thing, but to intrude on dreams was just appalling. Did no one understand the sanctity of sleep? “Apparently. He must have discovered your link to him and decided to use it for his own advantage.”

“He would,” Potter said darkly. “Doesn’t he already mess up my life enough without taking over my sleep as well?” Severus had no response other than a sympathetic grimace. “So, what, he’s going to possess me?”

“No, he isn’t capable of that.”

Potter gave a big sigh of relief. “How do you know?”

“Legilimency doesn’t work like that,” Severus said firmly. “But he can attempt to influence your emotions and plant visions in your head to manipulate you. Hopefully he cannot do what you seem able to do and see through your eyes as you see through his.”

Potter shuddered. “How would I know?”

“I don’t know, I’m afraid.” It cost him something to admit that, but he’d never lied to Potter.

“That’s okay.” Potter shrugged. “Even you can’t know everything. So, these dreams. Visions, I mean. Why’s he sending them? What use is me dreaming about a weird corridor, except to really annoy me?”

“You know there is something he wants—”

“The weapon you and Sirius told me about?”

“Don’t interrupt.”

“Sorry.”

“And yes, the weapon. He wants you to get it for him.”

“Me?” Potter asked in shock. “Why would I do that?”

Severus’s eyes narrowed. That should not have come as such a surprise. “Didn’t Dumbledore tell you any of this?”

“No!” Potter said indignantly.

Severus managed (just) not to slap his forehead. “The communication that goes on in this organisation is pathetic. How are we supposed to defeat a Dark Lord if we can’t even talk to each other?”

So instead of spending time on crucial Occlumency lessons, he had to sit the boy down and explain everything he knew that was relevant to Potter, about the prophecy (but not its contents) and how Voldemort wanted it and was trying to convince Potter to fetch it for him from the Hall of Prophecy. In other words, all the useful information that would stop a curious boy from haring off on a stupid and unnecessary adventure.

Potter, being an intelligent boy, took it in. “Wow, I knew it was important to learn Occlumency, but I didn't know it was that important. I just thought it would get me some good night's sleep.”

“Don’t underestimate the benefit of that side effect, Mr Potter.”

“Oh, I won’t, don’t worry. But now I’ll work really really hard. If I can keep him out of my head, will I get to sleep in?”

“Unlikely, I’m afraid,” Severus was forced to admit. “But your reward will be that once you have mastered this art we will continue to schedule these sessions but you can sleep instead of work.”

“Brilliant!” Potter said, eyes shining. “I’ll work really hard, I promise!”

Severus nodded, pleased.

* * *

* * *

**YEAR SIX**

“Enter!” Severus said impatiently at the knock on his office door. It was late, he wanted to go to bed but couldn’t, and there shouldn’t be any students coming for help this close to curfew. On Potter’s entry, though, his scowl softened a little.

“Guess what!” Potter greeted. “I’ve learnt how to sleep with my eyes open!”

“A remarkable—and useful—achievement.” And one Severus could certainly use during long staff meetings.

“Yup,” Potter agreed, understandably proud of himself. “And I can even talk in my sleep and say ‘Really, Headmaster? That sounds fascinating! I never knew that about Tom Riddle.’ “

Severus didn’t actually smile, but it was a close-run thing. “I take it the ‘training’ sessions continue as usual.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Yes! Like he needs to take a whole year to tell me this stuff! Couldn’t he just make some notes and let me read them? Then I could go to bed early!”

“The ways of Dumbledore,” Severus intoned, “are strange and wondrous.”

Potter snorted. “Strange is right, anyway. At least I get to catch up on some sleep while he goes on. Can we duel?”

“Potter—”

“Please? I like duelling. It’s more like _real_ training.”

Strange how Dumbledore, usually the favourite of children everywhere, had completely failed with this child; and all because of one grumpy potions master. Severus preened a little. “Very well.”

“Oh, _good_. I always sleep better after duelling; it wears me out.”

Severus didn’t quite smile because he never smiled in public, but he came as close as possible. “Good.”

* * *

Severus ran through the dark, shoving Draco on in front of him and cursing everything. He’d never wanted to kill Dumbledore, he’d been prepared to die himself rather than fulfil that damned vow. But Dumbledore had insisted, Dumbledore had come up with his grand plan, and now look at the mess they were in.

“Snape!” Severus swore under his breath. How the brat could be so fast was beyond him. They’d had a good head start on him and he was still catching up. “Snape, will you come _back_ here!”

Potter started firing at them, his silent-casted spells lighting up the night around them but never quite touching. One whizzed between Severus and Draco and Severus smiled grimly; the boy had skill and intelligence. He had been worth cultivating the past six years, even if Dumbledore’s grand design had made a mess of everything.

“Draco! Run!” He shoved the boy forward; Draco ran on and Snape turned to block the spells coming at him, buying time for Draco to get away.

A stinging hex came too close to his ear and he nearly yelped his protest of “Potter!”

“Sorry!”

They confronted each other over a short distance, Potter haloed by the light of spells back in the castle, and Potter cast the spell Severus had taught him to keep Weasley’s snores trapped in the confines of the other boy’s bed. No one would hear them.

Or hear Potter’s indignant: “You didn’t tell me he was going to freeze me!”

“I didn’t know!” Nor did he know how Dumbledore had failed to get Potter out of the way. Potter had _not_ been intended as a witness to that ghastly scene.

“It was dangerous! I couldn’t move! He could have got me _killed_. What if someone had stumbled over me when I couldn’t defend myself?”

“Obviously he doesn’t – didn’t, damn it – understand that you are perfectly capable of following orders when the reasoning behind them is explained to you. Which is why you are going to go back there and pretend you hate me, do you understand?” He spoke harshly, for they had little time.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re a big bad wizard.” Potter half turned to check over his shoulder then looked back, eyes intent. “But look... be careful, okay? Will Voldemort let you get any extra sleep?

“Perhaps. Not much.”

“Rats. Well, sleep in as much as you can, okay?”

“You too, Potter.”

“I’ll try.” He grimaced. “I’m not really sure how we’re going to work this next bit.”

“You’ll figure it out, Potter. You aren’t as idiotic as you look. Just make sure you get enough sleep to keep your brain working.”

“Yeah, you too. Don’t want to slip up when Voldy’s around, right?”

“No.” Severus paused. “Well. I had better go.”

“Yeah.” Potter paused too. “Look, be _careful_.”

“You too.”

“See you at the end of the war.”

And they turned and went their separate ways.

* * *

* * *

**YEAR SEVEN**

Severus walked slowly (and, yes, painfully, though he’d never admit it) into the battered broken walls of Hogwarts where the final battle against Voldemort had (finally) been won. People were starting to clean up, to seek out the wounded and tend to them, to realise what had been won—and what had been lost. Poppy had a makeshift hospital already set up in what had been the great hall and there were people bustling to and fro, whether they used doors or holes blasted in the walls.

People caught sight of him as he approached and he heard angry mutters and hisses, a low undercurrent of hatred toward him. But they were all exhausted, too exhausted for another battle, and the bystander effect was in full action, with everyone waiting for everyone else to make the first move. Severus sneered; that was how Voldemort had got so much power in the first place.

He ignored them and stood in the main courtyard and looked at his wounded school.

Then Potter and his merry band came out the blasted main doors of the castle. They saw him and stopped still.

Weasley made his usual useful contribution: “Snape? I thought he was dead?” Granger, rather more intelligent, elbowed him into silence and looked at Potter.

Who sprang forward and came running at Severus full tilt. “Professor! We did it!” Crashing into Severus, he gave him a huge hug. Several of the more fragile fainted with shock; the rest just stared like lunatics. “We did it! He’s dead!”

Several more fainted when Severus smiled and hugged the boy back. Briefly, of course, because Severus didn’t do touchy-feely, but it was definitely a hug.

“We did it,” he agreed. “He is. It’s over.”

Potter danced around like a seven year old instead of a seventeen year old, grabbing Severus’s hands and spinning him around with him, chanting, “It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.” Even Severus, scourge of the dungeons and all round greasy git, couldn’t help laughing in delight.

Then Potter stopped dancing and looked up at Severus, eyes shining. And, with his usual acumen, he put his finger right on the point of the whole exercise: “We can sleep in every day for the rest of our lives!”

_Fin_


End file.
